


sister golden hair

by Murf1307



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Bigender Alex Summers, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Queer Angst, Slow Burn, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: After the nuclear meltdown in India, Alex and Logan get back to their tour of U.S.-Mexico border towns.  But Alex has a secret, and soon, both of them are in over their heads.





	sister golden hair

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is based on _Havok/Wolverine: Meltdown_ , and I set it vaguely in the late 70s/early 80s because it seemed appropriate for the tone of the comic and the tone of this fic. It's a beautiful comic, and I really recommend it.
> 
> Also, this is 100% self-indulgence for me, but I hope you enjoy it as well!

“ _Once I thought I saw you in a crowded hazy bar,  
_ _dancin’ on the light from star to star…”_

\-- “Like a Hurricane” by Neil Young

* * *

 

The first night Alex doesn’t come out to the bar with Logan, a week or so after they’ve gotten their road trip back on track after the nuclear meltdown in India, Alex counts on the disaster as his cover.

That’s not to say he _isn’t_ grieving Scarlett.  She deserved better than she got, in the end, he thinks, and he’ll carry their few days together with him always.

But, let’s just say this:  he’s not his brother, and Scarlett was no Jean Grey.

Logan nods at him a little solemnly, a little edgily.  As if he can smell something Alex can’t.  He’s been doing that all the time ever since the meltdown, really, and Alex doesn’t really want to know why.

As it is, he exhales when Logan leaves, creaky door swinging shut behind him.  Tijuana is a good city for a man like Logan, Alex thinks.  

It’s a good city for a lot of things.

Alex stays sprawled out on his back on the bed for ten minutes more, then rises.  

He needs cover for this, because anyone would.

His duffle bag has a false bottom, a zipper pocket against one end where he keeps things he would never admit to owning.  He unzips the pocket and tugs them out: a white sundress, white kitten heels, a blonde wig, and a small collection of cosmetics.  

He’s never done this before, but he’s prepared for it, extensively.  Exhaling, long and slow, he takes the things into the hotel room bathroom.  He strips naked, carefully, and unfolds the sundress just as carefully.

She’s lucky, she thinks, that the fabric doesn’t really wrinkle.

The thing is: she’s got days when she’s not a guy.  It’s taken her years and years to recognize the fact.

Tonight, though, on this road trip with Wolverine, is her first chance to do something about it.  They leave Tijuana in the morning, so if this goes sideways, there aren’t really any lasting consequences.

She pulls on the sundress, her bare back strange against the open air as she ties the halter straps behind her neck.

This part she’s done before, late at night, when the rest of the world’s asleep.  She’s even gotten as far as makeup before taking it all off again.  

But tonight, she’ll go further.  Tonight, she needs to make this real.

Makeup comes next, and she contours her face to look less angular, to sharpen her cheekbones.  Eyeliner and mascara darken the rims of her eyes, turn her lashes sooty.  Lipstick is the last touch, a smear of red that looks an awful lot like Scarlett’s, in the end.

Then the wig.  She situates it on her head, pins it on as best she can.  It’s good quality, expensive, maybe even real hair.  She’s put it on all of twice.  The hair falls to her collarbones in loose waves.  When she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees someone new, someone she’s been hiding from her whole life.

Tonight, there’s no more hiding.  At least for a few hours, she’s going to do this.  Live this way.  She has to, she thinks.  

At least to know she _can_.

She steps into the kitten heels -- half an inch at most, but she’s self conscious about her height, anyway.  She turns in different ways to look at herself in the mirror.

She looks like a model?  The idea strikes her -- yes, supermodels, boyishly flat and Amazon-tall.  She can look like them, if she’s careful enough.

One last thing, though, before she leaves for the evening: a precaution.

Perfume.

She douses herself in a fragrance that mixes floral and green smells, that smells good on her.  

In case she winds up in the same bar as Logan, she at least has one extra layer of protection from being found out.

One final flourish in the mirror, and she nods at herself, takes her room key, and walks out into the cool Tijuana darkness.  
  


* * *

  
Logan is well into a bottle of tequila when the woman walks in.  He notices her first for the fact that she’s drowned herself in perfume, which means she’s either hiding something, or she’s that self-conscious, or both.

He looks, and the first thing he sees is the way she walks.

Even in heels, he’d know that gait anywhere.  He takes a deeper breath, tries to get past the chemical flowers and green shit, and there it is: ozone and sunlight and smoke and paper and musk.  

_Alex._

Jeez.  Alex looks gorgeous like this, the weeks in the desert burnishing the skin revealed by the white dress to a soft gold.  It stirs something in Logan, something protective and, if he’s honest, a little hot.

Alex approaches the bar, and the tenor in the room changes.  Logan’s not the only one who’s noticed Alex’s entrance, apparently.

That low, warm thing in Logan’s gut uncurls, tells him to go and protect what’s his.

Considering Alex _isn’t_ his, by any stretch of the imagination, it’s only a little bit of a surprise.  Exhaling, Logan gets up from the corner he’s perched in, leaving the bottle for whatever poor bastard wants the rest of the tequila, and makes his way toward the bar.

“‘S ain’t the best place for a pretty woman,” he says, cracking his neck at Alex’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?”  Voice not quite falsetto, but breathier than the one Logan’s used to from Alex.  That, and the unmistakable panic in Alex’s eyes, though it doesn’t show anywhere else.

Okay.  So Alex doesn’t want him to know?

Then he’s not gonna know.

“Bar like this, pretty girl like you looks like a t-bone steak to some people,” he says, not giving the game away at all.  

“I can handle myself.”

“Mm, I’m sure you can.  Still, this is Tijuana.  Town’s dangerous at night.”  Especially for someone like Alex.  Logan has seen some bad shit in his time, and some of the worst stuff he’s seen has happened to people like Alex.

He doesn’t want it to happen _to_ Alex.

“I have a friend who loves towns like this,” Alex says.  “He went out tonight looking for trouble.  I just want to have a drink.”

“Drinks, trouble, they’re the same thing here.”

“You’re pretty convinced of that,” Alex teases, with a little bit of a smile.  “You look like the kind of man who could could get me into both, at any rate.”

Oh god, is Alex _flirting_ with him?

“A drink, at least,” Logan responds, smirking a little.  “Trouble usually finds me afterward.”

“A drink, then.”  Alex smirks back -- and that’s all Summers, that half-twist of mouth.  On Alex now, it’s the most attractive thing Logan’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s the lipstick, he doesn’t know.

“A drink,” he agrees, and then waves down the barkeep.  “Una cerveza and a…” he glances at Alex.  “Whatever she wants.”

Alex’s smirk pulls into something loose and pleased, brightening.   _She_ , then, Logan decides.  At least for now.  

“I’ll have a martini,” she says, glancing back at him.

“Classy, for a joint like this.”  Logan smirks at her.

“Someone has to have some,” she says.  And man, if that’s not pure Summers teasing in her voice, he’s an American.  “So I will.”

The bartender passes them their drinks, and Logan can’t help but notice the way the lipstick transfers from Alex’s lips to the rim of her glass.  All that red, printed almost daintily on the edge.  He takes a swig of his beer.

He’s glad he can’t get drunk, to be honest.  He’d say something stupid, most likely.

“So, what’s a girl like you doin’ in Tijuana?” he asked Alex.  

Alex laughs, voice falling a little lower now, just for a moment.  “I’m traveling with a friend.  Like I said, he’s kind of a troublemaker.  Tijuana was his idea.”

“He have a lot of those kinds of ideas, then?” Logan smirks a little.  He likes Alex’s nerve, using him against him like that.  He doesn’t even try to defend himself, just chuckles a little.  “Sounds like the kind of guy a classy girl shouldn’t associate with.”

Alex laughs, just a little.  “He’s fun.”

“You like bad boys, huh?”  He takes a swig of beer.  “No shortage of ‘em here.”

“Mhm.”  Alex nods.  “But I think tonight I just want a drink.”

“Drink as much as you like.  I’ll walk you home.”

She shakes her head almost immediately, swallowing another sip of that martini.  “No, I’ll be fine.  I have a traveling companion, remember?”

Logan really hates himself, sometimes.  Jeez.  “All right.  If you won’t have me walk you home later, can I at least get a name for now?”

“Ale-- Alice,” she says, and he knows quite well what she almost said.

He nods.  “All right, Alice.  Pleasure to meet you.”  
  


* * *

  
Alex realizes that she’s lying to Logan.  Pretending to be ‘Alice.’  But Logan doesn’t seem to recognize her.  And -- the way he talks to her, it makes her feel good.  

It makes her feel like maybe she can do this, maybe she can be a pretty girl when she feels like a girl.  She likes being pretty, likes being flirted with, and really, if she’s honest with herself, she kind of likes Logan.

Yeah, like that.  It’s easier to admit it when she’s a girl, to be honest.

He makes her feel pretty, after all, and she knows he likes girls.  She doesn’t know if he likes boys, so the other half the time, this is a lot harder to handle, but she does, she can.  It is what it is.

They’ve worked their way up the border -- if the went south across it and just kept going, they’d work their way all the way down the Baja Peninsula.  This border town isn’t Tijuana, but it wants to be, and Logan goes out alone.  “Alice” follows half an hour later, her hair curled and perfumed and her lips that deep, candy-apple red he seemed to like last time.

This is the third time she finds him.  She knows she’s pushing her luck.  Eventually, he has to get suspicious, doesn’t he?  
  


* * *

  
Logan doesn’t try to touch Alex, or Alice, or whatever she wants to be called, until the fifth time.  He takes it slow because he knows her, because he respects the risk she’s taking, flirting with him.  She deserves his careful attention, his complete focus.  

He thinks the perfume went on a little weak this time, but he doesn’t say anything.  He buys her a drink, her fingers skimming his when he hands it over to her.  

It has to be tonight.  He can’t just  keep doing this while she circles closer and closer to him where it counts.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to your hotel?”  He doesn’t reach out to her quite yet, but it’s a near thing.  “I have to say, it doesn’t seem like your traveling companion ever comes out with you.”

“Well,” she says, shrugging.  “He’s usually already gone by the time I leave.”

“I can’t imagine a guy not stickin’ around to see you,” he says, honestly.  The only reason he doesn’t hang around is because she doesn’t come out if he stays.

Alice smiles at him, and it’s a little sad.  “You don’t have to flatter me.”

“Ain’t flattery if it’s just the truth.”

She looks away.  “I can’t have you come back to the hotel, in case he comes back.”

Logan reaches out and gently traces the side of her face.  “Sweetheart, I’ll do whatever makes you comfortable.”  

Alice exhales, a little shakily.  “I -- I want to.  But I don’t know if --”

“If it’s safe?”  He understands that.  He might not know what that must feel like, but he understands the idea of it -- he knows his own fear, after all, and fear always smells the same on everyone.

“...Yeah.”  She nods.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, but relents.  
  


* * *

  
Logan is incredible.  Alex doesn’t know how else to describe him, in these final winding days of their trip along the border; he can’t come up with any other words to talk about how Logan was the perfect gentleman to Alice when she backed away from going further.

Alex feels one more girl day coming on before the end of their vacation, and wouldn’t you know it -- they’re back in Tijuana when it happens.

She puts a little more effort into her hair, her makeup, and she wonders if that’s maybe counterproductive -- Lorna complained, sometimes, when they were together, about how women needed to stop dressing up for men.  But Alex _wants_ to be pretty -- she always wants to be pretty, when she’s a girl.  And Logan’s been so kind to her, treats her so well.

She finds him in the same bar, the one where it all started, and she tries to seem confident, tries to convince herself that she is.

“Hey, Logan,” she says, and a little nervousness still threads in.  
  


* * *

  
Logan orders her a drink, and they flirt, and it’s all become so normal that he even jokes about asking if she wants him to walk her back to her hotel room when the night is through.  Alex as Alice is every bit as funny, but just a little softer, more skittish about it.  As if she’s self conscious about everything, not just the things that make her different.

When the night ends and the bar closes, Logan takes her hand.  “I don’t want to leave,” he admits to her.  “I never like leaving.”

Alice looks down at their hands.  “I know -- I -- me neither.  You’re so kind to me, every time.”

“You deserve it,” he says, smiling at her, a low rumble of sweet contentment growing in his chest -- and this is rare for him.  But his bright girl, his pretty blonde who wears too much perfume, she brings that out in him, and they’ve never so much as kissed.

She blushes, and lifts his hand with hers.  Then, she kisses the back of it.  “Thank you.”

It’s a sign, one he can read clear as day.  He pulls her closer, slides his free hand around the small of her back.  They’re on barstools, so the height difference is negligible.

When he’s close enough, she takes the initiative, and presses her lips to his.  
  


* * *

  
They only make it out into the alleyway next to the bar before Logan presses Alex against a brick wall.  Alex makes a soft, breathless noise, and leans down for another kiss, this one more heated than the last.  

Logan moans in return, his hands settled on Alex’s hips.  It feels wonderful, Alex thinks, to be treated like this, to be kissed like this, and she leans into it, as awkward as the angle might be.  She wraps her arms around Logan’s neck and shoulders, not sure what else to do with them -- she’d never done something like this before, not on a girl day.

She’s even more surprised by the way he curls his fingertips into her hips, and she knows that even from this, there will be bruises in the morning, bruises she’s going to treasure until they fade away, trace her own fingers over as she thinks about him.

She’s been thinking about him a lot, lately.  

It’s achy, to keep lying to Logan even as she takes so much from his hands, from the glittering of his eyes in these hazy bars, but she doesn’t know how to tell him the truth without maybe losing him.  And this is the one time she’s going to let herself be selfish, another thing that defines her outside of her brother.

Logan hitches one of his big thighs between her legs, and she freezes for a moment.  It’s not that she thinks Logan doesn’t know she’s not like other women, but there’s a difference between theory and practice, and this has slipped very far out of theory.

But he just smoothes her dress over her hips and kisses her neck.  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he rumbles against her skin.  “You got nothin’ to be scared of.”

He presses his leg higher, against her, and she rolls her hips with an almost virginal awkwardness, her arousal starting to become obvious against his thigh.  One of her hands comes up and tangles in Logan’s hair and in return, he bites at the juncture between her neck and shoulder.  

“Oh,” she breathes, because it feels good, and she rolls her hips a little harder.  The friction against her feels good, and she wants more of it, wants everything Logan is willing to give her tonight.

It’s a strange sort of feeling, giving in to wanting when she’s like this.  Giving in to what she wants with a man, with this man specifically.

One of Logan’s hands slips around to her ass, helping drag her toward him as she keeps rutting on his thigh.  It feels incredible, feels almost possessive, and for the moment, she wants to be possessed.

She moans, her head back against the wall Logan has her pressed against, and he rumbles appreciatively in response.  She starts to notice the way that, when she rolls her hips forward, her thigh teases against Logan’s arousal, which is _very_ apparent in his jeans.  He doesn’t say anything about it, and she doesn’t know how to bring it up, how to ask what _he_ wants.

“Wish you’d let me get you to a hotel room,” Logan says, nipping at her collarbone.  “Treat you right, lay you out on white sheets and work you over good.”  When Alex groans in response to the idea.  “Maybe even fuck you, if that’s what you’re into.”

Alex doesn’t know, but the idea of it, growled out against her skin as they rut against each other, is a hot, dirty one.  “I’ve never done that,” she gasps back.  “I’d like to try it.”

Logan’s grin against her neck is a shit-eating one.  “Next time,” he says, as if there’s going to be a next time, as if this sojourn in Tijuana can last forever.

Not for the first time, she wishes it could.  

As always, she knows it can’t.  
  


* * *

  
They come back to Westchester without any more moments of indiscretion, without any more girl days, and certainly without any more sexual encounters.  Logan doesn’t know if there’s a rhyme or reason to when Alex is Alice, but he misses her.  She’d been perfect against that wall, and Logan can admit it: he’ll curl a hand around himself in the shower and think about that night more often than not.

Alex consumes his thoughts now in a way that nobody has since Itsu, since Jean.  It’s a hard realization to come to, because he doesn’t know if this is something he can keep, if it’s something he’s even allowed to have.

He doesn’t even know if Alex will keep being Alice once they’re back in New York, if he’ll ever run into her again in a bar.

It’s not just Alice he thinks about, though -- knowing how Alex sounds in the throes of passion, knowing how Alex _smells_ with his own scent mingled in, it makes him think about Alex as a man, too, and what _that_ would be like.

Logan’s had his fair share of men in his long life -- not so commonly as women, but he’s been a soldier, and rumors of gay sex in the ranks come from _somewhere_.  Sometimes he likes to think, jokingly, that those rumors come in fair part from himself, but there’s no way to know for sure.

His bright boy, that’s what he’d call him, because ‘bright boy’ isn’t too suspect in public, but sweet enough to work as a pet name in private.  Logan has a feeling Alex wouldn’t want to tell anyone about it, and he’ll respect that.

He doesn’t need any public reassurance, and it’s dangerous for most people in a way it just isn’t for him.

Sure, it would be nice to walk around with a hand on Alex’s hip, or waist, or, hell, slipped into his back pocket.  But that’s an unreasonable fantasy in most of the real world, and he can’t dream too big when it’s Alex he wants.

Alex, Alice -- either way, it’s a beautiful dream he’s not quite ready to accept might be over.  
  


* * *

  
Alex doesn’t really know what to do now that they’re back in Westchester.  He doesn’t know what to do with Logan, or with girl days, or with the sense of loss that permeates thinking about that vacation along the border.

He’s afraid of saying anything, and he’s even more back into the closet than before.  He looks at himself in the mirror and can’t help but call himself a liar.  He should’ve told Logan, shouldn’t have let it get that far, shouldn’t have enjoyed how it felt to be treated so sweetly.  He’s _smarter_ than that, or at least he’d thought he was.

Today, he’s heading through the mansion, toward the kitchen, when he hears soft singing and the strumming of a guitar.  It takes him a moment to realize, as he almost draws level with Logan’s bedroom, that that’s where it’s coming from.

Logan is _singing._

_Well I keep on thinkin’ ‘bout you, sister golden hair surprise,_   
_And I just can’t live without you, can’t you see it in my eyes?_   
_I been one poor correspondent; I been too too hard to find  
But that doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind..._

It’s a song by soft-rock band America, and it’s a few years old at least, but it’s a song Alex recognizes nonetheless.  It stops him dead in his tracks.

He leans against the wall nearest Logan’s door, and listens to Logan sing.  His voice is soft, and low, and full of feeling.  Alex looks up at the ceiling, a lump in his throat.  It’s obvious, from the way he sings it, that he means every word, that it’s _real_.

And it’s about ‘Alice,’ because of course it is.  

Logan is in love with Alice, and Alex wants to die.

He stumbles away, back where he came from, as the song draws to a close.  How can he live with this?  Logan fell in love with a part of him that he can’t confess to being, and besides, he’s in love with _part_ of him.  

God, he’s not sure this could ever get any worse.  
  


* * *

  
Logan doesn’t usually head down to the Village, but he wants a damn drink.  Alex is avoiding him, he thinks, just a little, and Logan’s sure it’s because they’re back in New York, and Alex is scared.

He wishes there was something he could say, some way to make it better, but he can’t.  He’d pretended he didn’t know, and so, he’d made his bed and has to lie in it.

It’s an empty bed, though, and he’s tired.  

The bar he chooses is a fairly quiet one -- nothing like the clubs and bathhouses littering the area these days.  Dark wood, a soft rock cover band in the corner.  You could mistake it for a straight bar if you didn’t see the occasional couple making out in a booth, or two men flirting with a drag queen at the bar.

He gets himself a drink, asks for it strong.

“Boy problems?” the bartender asks him, seeing it in his face.

“Sorta.  She’s a girl sometimes,” he admits, but doesn’t say more.  He doesn’t like baring his soul to bartenders, never has.

He’s there for an hour or so when the door swings open, and there she is.

_Alice._

His heart twists in his chest, because god, he’s missed her.  He looks at her, can’t take his eyes away, really, and she sees him too.

When she reaches him, he sees her hands are trembling.  He reaches out and takes them in his, squeezing them gently.  “Hey,” he says, quiet, a little uncertain.  “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I-I was in town, and…” She swallows.  “I’m glad I found you.”

He’s glad she did, too.  He lifts her hands and kisses the back of one.  “I missed you,” he says, because it’s true, and she deserves to know that.

“Me too,” she responds, and god, she looks a little torn up.

“...Do you wanna get out of here?  Get a hotel room or something?”  He owes her exactly what he promised her against that wall, and this time, he thinks she might say yes.

“I -- okay,” she says, her voice low and rough.

He puts his money down on the bar, and walks away with her.  
  


* * *

  
He brings her to a hotel and pays for the room in cash.  She can feel the nervousness building in her, because as much as she -- well, she loves him, too -- she can’t help but think that it’s _different_ this time.  They won’t just be rutting against each other in an alleyway.  She might even be naked, this time, and that scares her.

But he holds her hand all the way up to the hotel room, and pulls her close when they’re inside.  She’s too tall for him to pull her down for a kiss, but he kisses her hand again, and then her shoulder.  “Take off your heels, sweetheart, I wanna kiss you.”

She toes out of the shoes and leans down, sinking into the kiss immediately.  God, she loves him, she really does.  

“I wanna touch you,” he tells her when the kiss is done.  “You all right with that?”

“Y-yeah,” she says, and, biting her lip, tugs him over to the bed.  “I -- you really want to?”

Logan nods.  “As long as you want to, too.  I’ve been around a long time, sweetheart, you’re not gonna scare me off.”

She nods, and pulls him close again, holding his wrists and slides his hands up the front of her chest.  She wants this, more than she’s ever wanted anything, and that in itself scares her a little.

He touches her, then pushes gently at her to get her to lie down on the bed.  She blushes, and isn’t sure what to do until he kisses her again, having climbed on top of her, straddling her hips.  

“I promised you I was gonna do you right someday,” he says, and his low, warm rumble makes her want to moan.  “And here we are.”

“Yeah,” she repeats, biting her lip.  He’s heavy, but in a good way, the weight of him on her reassuring that this is all real, that he really wants to be here, pinning her down.  “Here we are.”

He kisses her again, and she touches him this time, her hands in his hair, and he touches her body.  

It feels strange and new and beautiful, and she never wants him to stop.

Lucky for her, he doesn’t.  
  


* * *

  
Logan gets up early in the morning, looking over at Alice, her body stretched out on the bed.  Her makeup is smeared on the pillow, and her wig has fallen so askew it’s essentially off.  He smiles down at her, because she’s still asleep, and leans down, kissing her cheek.

She moves a little, but doesn’t ultimately stir.  He gets off the bed, and dashes off a quick note on the hotel stationery: _Went to grab us some breakfast.  Be back soon.  -- L._

He gets them egg sandwiches on bagels, because he knows _Alex_ likes those, so it follows that Alice would.  It takes him a little longer -- Saturday morning is a busy time for bagel places in New York -- than he’d hoped, but within half an hour he’s coming back up to the room.

When he comes in, though, he finds Alice curled up and sobbing.  She’s still naked, her wig thrown across the room.  When he closes the door behind him, she freezes, having noticed now that she’s no longer alone.  He moves toward the bed, putting the bag of food down on the dresser, and she turns around.  

“L-logan?” she says, and she’s shaking.  

“Yeah?” he says, carefully, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  He’ll give her space, if she wants that, but he wants to show her he’s not going to run from her.  “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

She swallows.  “Isn’t it -- isn’t it obvious?”

He reaches out toward her, his hand falling on the sheets when he can’t reach her.  “You think I didn’t know, huh?”

“--You -- you knew?” she asks, eyes wide.  Her voice is rough from crying.

“Yeah.  Since that first night.”  He nods.  “But you seemed so happy to think you’d fooled me.  And -- I liked flirting with you.  Wasn’t sure how you’d take it if you knew I knew.”

She blinks, tears coming again.  “But -- if you know -- then --”

“I still wanna be with you, bright girl,” he says.  “Doesn’t matter what name you’re using.”

“Even though -- even though I lied to you all this time?”  She sounds shocked, and when he nods, she adds, “Even though I was too scared to tell you anything?”

He nods again.  “Yeah.  However you want me, I can work with it.”

As long as, in some capacity, Alex Summers is _his_.  Even if her name is Alice, even if it’s only in gay bars at night, or cheap hotel rooms in the Village, or in smoky border towns in Mexico.

She moves toward him, slowly, nervously, until her knees are bumping against his hip.  “I -- I don’t know.  What I want.  I want -- fuck, this is...this is so _complicated._ ”

“Do you still wanna be called Alice?” he asks.  It’s somewhere to start, he thinks.

“...Yeah, I think so.  Um.  And -- I’m not always a girl,” she says to him.  “I like it when you call me Alice when I am, though.”

He nods.  It’s a little bit of virgin territory, he thinks, that Alex isn’t always one or the other.  “Okay.  Then I can do that.  What about when you’re not Alice?”   _Do you still want me then?_

She swallows.  “I.  I don’t know what to do about that, yet.”

“Okay,” he repeats.  “We’ll get there.”  

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, her hands tangled in her lap.  

He nods.  “Of course, sweetheart.”

And she does.  
  


* * *

  
They make love, in that hotel room, and fall asleep.  When Alex wakes up, the sun is setting, he’s not Alice anymore, and anxiety pools in his gut.  For all Logan said all the right things this morning, he’s still afraid.

He rolls over, a little closer to Logan, whose nose twitches a little in his sleep.  Logan stirs, one arm lazily falling over Alex’s waist and hauling him closer.  Alex feels a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, because, even nervous as he is, this feels right.  It feels _good_ , Logan wrapped around him as the sunset burnishes the room a little bit orange.

“...Sweetheart?” Logan rumbles softly, starting to wake up properly.  “How’re you doin’?”

He flushes a little.  “I -- I think I’m good.”

Logan nods, pressing his face against Alex’s neck.  “Pretty girl.”

Alex shakes his head.  “Not a girl, right now,” he says, the nervousness peaking, because this is the moment of truth -- is Logan going to be okay with the reality of this?

He hums.  “All right.  Pretty _boy_ , then,” he amends, not moving his face.  In fact, he kisses his neck, nipping a little.  “My bright boy.”

It has the sound of something Logan’s thought about calling him before, and Alex doesn’t want to hold out hope, but maybe, just maybe -- maybe Logan’s wanted this part, too.  Not just Alice.

“We should probably get up,” he murmurs.  “We missed checkout.  Hotel manager’s probably pissed.”

“Don’t care.  He can fight me.”  Logan holds him even closer, a smile pressed against Alex’s skin.  “I don’t wanna move.”

Alex laughs, softly, and for the first time since Tijuana, the anxiety starts to unravel.


End file.
